kiwoku
by todokanai
Summary: [repost] There is no greater pain than losing a loved one. Unwilling to revisit that lesson, Miroku pursues the defected Sango. Rated for Language.
1. kiwoku 01

**Disclaimer: I claim ownership over nothing, and I think you'd be silly to believe otherwise.**

**kiwoku**

_"When the child was a child  
it was the time of these questions:  
Isn't life under the sun just a dream?  
Isn't what I see, hear and smell  
only the illusion of a world before the world?  
Does evil actually exist,  
and are there people who are really evil?"_

The woman twisted her wrists and body as much as she could, but futilely, against her coarse woven bonds.

A young monk sat within kicking distance, but as she was bound yet and the young man's shakujou rested in his hand as a potential weapon, she decided she could not maneuver herself successfully in the time it would take to pin her to the ground. His smile was placating, and she imagined the satisfaction of knocking him on the head with something heavy as he spoke.

"Please understand that I would not usually seek to stay you by such underhanded means. But, given these circumstances," his unbandaged arm --- the one closer to her --- drew away from her and closer to his own body, "I am unable to still you myself. You have my most sincere apologies."

He should have known better than to loosen the ropes when they appeared to cause her discomfort, and to allow her to squirm so, both distracting him and further loosening the ties binding her wrists to her ankles. As soon as she freed herself, she would seek confrontation if escape was not an immediate option. _No one_ impeded her mission.

She would not kill him, since it was not presently her master's wish, but she would see to it that he was repaid for this inconvenience.

But then ---

Realization existed as little more than breath across her consciousness, the faintest trace of a scent long forgotten and teasing at her olfactory sense. Perhaps of a past life.

No. _No_. It seemed too fresh, and evoked new --- but strangely familiar --- sensations in her breast and mind. She gave the boy a hard stare that, after a few moments had passed between them, had dissolved into a look of confused concentration. "You . . . "

There was no other way to describe how the boy reacted than to say he lit up. His features rose from resigned, restrained haplessness to almost boyish joy in not even the blink of an eye. "Do --- do you recognize me?" Nearly beside himself, he knelt before her, grasping the backs of her bound hands, looking as though he barely resisted the urge to pull her close; a wise decision to preserve his safety. The boy bound his emotions well with sensibility.

There was something achingly . . . familiar about that.

Perhaps she _had_ known him, in that life that had passed before. They might have known each other, but for all she knew he sought only her downfall at present. And she did have her orders. The best course of action, then, would be to escape or fight him, this strange boy who looked upon her as though he depended on her very existence lest he expire. _Though she couldn't really help but wonder, had she been such an important component of his life then that he had cause to gaze upon her so now?_ A number of heartbeats passed, and she felt strangely --- _guilty?_ --- before she slowly shook her head no.

The boy's hopeful expression faded swiftly, his body seeming to deflate and his hands over hers becoming dead weight. Whatever his suffering, though, he did manage somehow to put on a foolish smile. "Then . . . perhaps that is for the best, much as I am loathe to admit. It may prove a good road to take after all, starting over; I might convince you to bear my child this time." That simple-minded smile overcame his face as he stroked her knuckles with his thumb.

_What a ridiculous thing to say at a time like this._ The girl glared. This boy was either insensible or ill. She was not concerned enough to determine which, if it was indeed just one thing. She ignored the feeling of course fibers chafing raw the exposed skin of her wrists, twisting her arm, and, little by little, loosening those cursed bindings under the pretense of escaping his hand-hold.

A wave of dizziness struck, turning the world sideways and blurring her vision. She shook her head violently until she could see clearly, and absently noted the young man's concerned statement. Her head ---

Her head ---

_Sango . . ._

_"How can it be that I, who am I,  
didn't exist before I came to be  
and that someday  
the one who I am  
will no longer be the one I am?"_

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03.04.2004

As I own nothing but the inanity of my own mind, **credit where credit is due**:  
Takahashi Rumiko - _Inuyasha_  
Peter Hausen - _Lied Vom Kindsein_  
Every Little Thing - "kiwoku"


	2. kiwoku 02

**Disclaimer: I claim ownership over nothing, and I think you'd be silly to believe otherwise.**

**kiwoku**

The animals of the forest whispered danger amongst themselves. Battles were not uncommon here, but confrontations such as these were graver than those between mere human warlords. This was the work of demons. And when such darkness descended upon the land, so did dread.

There was much strong spiritual energy to be found here. There were rumors of a man of the Buddha, one of great power and who could harness the wind with his right hand. In his company was one of the inu youkai lineage --- of a family widely feared and respected. This was true of even the rare hanyou. Initially, few believed the outrageous claims that the odd, loose-looking girl who traveled with them was truly a Shinto priestess who carried within her the magic of Midoriko, but murmurs of witnessings of her grand displays of holy power spread, like fire through the fields, in numbers that could not be denied.

The wise knew to be on guard when individuals of great power united, and even more so when they clashed as was in their nature to do. It came as no surprise to the creatures that the group was challenging the power of one whose name was dangerous to even whisper, lest the utterence carried on the wind to his ears. Those who were brought to his attention were unfortunate: their line, for many generations, would be cursed. The hole in the monk's hand bore ample testimony to that.

That the battle was to take place here was grieved heavily. Oftentimes it happened that the miko, the houshi, and the hanyou had to pursue the fearsome monstrosity, but this time, he had sent two of his agents after them with three shards of a jewel the animals knew better than to want any part of. Being unable to do anything else, they avoided the clearing and hoped to also avoid notice.

The female taijiya extended her arm and caught the large bone weapon on its return path. The monk had not yet recovered from the chest strike, and judging from appearances, he would not soon. He was on his hands and knees, choking on blood. The taijiya looked quickly over at the boy-warrior she worked with as he advanced upon the young miko. Both demon slayers went undistracted by the hanyou nearby who had visible difficulty deciding which of his human companions to aid.

"Miroku-sama!" the girl cried, seeing the monk. She fired another arrow at the boy, _Kohaku_, has he swung his blade in a deadly arc toward her head. She flinched downward as the scythe fell, but it was stopped by the sudden appearance of a transformed katana. _Tessaiga_.

"You little shit!" The hanyou roared, forcing the boy back with the enormous demon fang. "Kagome," he called over his shoulder, "go check on Miroku."

The young girl obeyed quickly, dropping to her knees beside the fallen man and placing a gentle hand at his back. "Miroku-sama? You'll be all right, won't you, Miroku-sama? Miroku-sama?"

"Just a little bruise," the bloody chuckle accompanying his words dotted the mud black. He caught sight of the female taijiya, and when she watched him with only a hunter's eyes, he turned away as though the image physically pained him. Slowly, deliberately, she brought Hiraikotsu over her head and set her sights on the pair on the ground.

A noise to her right indicated the hanyou managing to push Kohaku away with the sword, and, eyes on her, prepared to do battle. "Sango, you stupid bitch!" _Sango_ . . . It echoed in the abandoned corridors of her mind, and for a moment, she hesitated. But it was enough. The half-breed had dealt her a blow with that demon-blade of his, knocking her backward into the mire.

"You _bastard_!" She looked up in time to see the wounded monk --- a blur of dark cloth --- charge at the hanyou, pinning him to the earth with a staff topped with golden rings. "How _dare_ you hurt her?!" He shook his dog-eared companion, though he was bleeding considerably through the mouth and in no condition to be moving around hastily as he was. The miko shrieked. Blood continued to drip from his parted lips.

There was pulling at the back of her mind. She was being summoned. Getting to her feet, she glanced at the boy, who was already returning the look, and together they disappeared into the endless darkness that surrounded the clearing. She could easily ignore the sounds of feet pounding after them and the shouting of that word --- a name? --- again. _Sango, Sango_ . . .

The stifling dark energy withdrew, and the more daring creatures crept from safety to survey the area. Some observed the sharp smells of pain and blood in the air. A few picked up the scent of one who was recognized as part of the group . . . only . . . tinged with the stench of evil. The taijiya who had disappeared from the group not two moon cycles before.

Many found themselves cringing upon hearing the desperate cry of one human male as he stumbled in the direction of the taijiya's retreat. "Sango!"

09.06.2004

As I own nothing but the inanity of my own mind, **credit where credit is due**:  
Takahashi Rumiko - _Inuyasha_  
Peter Hausen - _Lied Vom Kindsein_  
Every Little Thing - "kiwoku"


End file.
